Urban 2

En route to yesterday's exhibition of young shaven male bodies and testosterone-laden leaping, Moonface and I had a quiet appreciation of democratic and simple art.

Our stroll to the docks first took us past one of our local pubs, one that we have more-or-less given up on going to, as it's become too noisy and popular for us; we seem to prefer a quiet drink and a talk rather than the loud atmosphere which pervades so many locals now. But they are popular with people younger than us, so they must be doing something right. The one I'm thinking of, the Prince of Wales, used to be a "normal" pub, with nicotine- stained ceilings and sticky carpets when we were regulars. Now it's got slate floors, serves food, has piped music just too loud for us, and is full.

The exterior has been painted, too:



We strolled over Cotham, past the University and down Park Street, where Bob Antell and some other artists were showing their works at Bristol Guild. Bob was manning the stand, so we talked for some time while before looking at his an other works. As I wrote before, I do like his art for its simplicity and accessibility. The themes are mostly very domestic: allotments and beach holidays. I think that this makes them all the better for this local market, as his foreign scenes (India, the south of France) just aren't as relevant to his audience's lives. HIs nudes aren't bad, either.




We have sort-of promised ourselves that when Moonface receives her first salary cheque from her new job, we'll buy a print of his as a commemoration. We'll see how it goes.


:O)

Urban 1

It's Saturday night, and I'm writing the blog instead of being out on the razz. I'm not disappointed, as it's been a great day, just taking a day as a tourist in my home city.

It could have been an unsatisfactory day, as the two evening activities which we had as options, were both cancelled. Andy put off his birthday party, which was a shame because we always enjoy them, and Dan (of Falling Dan)'s gig was also postponed or was otherwise off.

In the knowledge that we had a day in the city, Moonface & I decided to walk to the city centre and have a look at the Project 360 activities, a festival of urban sports and arts. By Urban, I think the organisers mean "working class" rather than High Art. It certainly looked that way. The visual arts were represented by grafittis, and the sports were those of - let's face it - the poor white boys. There were BMX half-pipes, parkour set-ups, and skateboard ramps. In the first sunny weather for a month, the participants were true athletes. Their dress was street, and most of the parkour boys went bare-chested with baggy track bottoms. How they handled their bodies and bikes I cannot understand: it seemed as if the laws of physics and physiology were being broken every second.




All of this took place in the Lloyds Amphitheatre, beside the Docks. After sharing a Pieminster pie, we strolled along the banks of the new developments of flats towards the old Cumberland Rd gasworks, astounded at the new blocks replacing the old shunting yards and admiring the clean water, appreciated by birds as well as boaters.




And then we retraced our steps and walked home in the heat, with a bit more tourism thrown in. But I'll try to cover that some other time.

:-)

Moonface's Mini-Adventures

I've been teasing Moonface for some time about her love of getting away from it all, and her frequent weekends away having fun of some sort. After this bank holiday trip with me into the Brecons, we have totted up her summer to find that she has spent nine weekends in succession with at least one night away from home. The gadabout!

So what's she been up to?

• Glastonbury festival
• Rick & Briony's anniversary / birthday party
• Walking with Sarah
• Hostelling weekend at Tal-y-Sarn
• Trowbridge festival (harumph)
  
• Exmoor Explorer weekend
  
• Walking the Cumbria Way with me
• The Green Man festival
• The Brecons with me

It looks as if she'll be at home all next weekend (apart from the barbie on Saturday and the walk with the book group girls on Sunday) for the first time since June....

Moonface now astounds me by her energy and ability to plan and get things done: she seems to be accelerating in her activities rather than slowing down like so many people do. Meanwhile, I'm very happy just slipstreaming along. Life's good.

:O)

:O)

Fading Empire

Following the news recently, I've seen that there have been gun-battles between government forces and rebels (or secessionists, depending upon your point of view) in Peshawar and Swat, in Pakistan. It's just over thirty years since Moonface and I travelled there, and it seems that the structure of the state has disintegrated in the intervening years.

The time-lapse between the second war & Pakistani Independence, and our visit; is the same thirty years as between our visit and now. It was then a relatively safe and welcoming place to travel around, although the Muslim males were very aggressive towards Moonface, even though she used to wear a headscarf and full-length dresses. We travelled in Swat: I remember it as being a dry dusty valley, a mountain kingdom of white low square houses, most roads were dirt, with cannabis plants growing wild by the wayside. Even then, we saw men with old rifles carried casually over their shoulders, as their enititlement to manhood. I have no wish to return.

:¬[

Seamus Heaney

I bought Seamus Heaney's "The Spirit Level" last month, knowing that he is a Nobelist, a multiple prize-winning poet, world-famous.

Yet I could not enjoy his poetry at all; his language and imagery are too convoluted, seem too fake. There's a deliberate complexity in his work, an inconsistency of subject which makes him hard to read. I'll try Beowulf when I see it, but you can keep the rest.

When I compare his verse to that of Kate Clancy, whose "Slattern" I also bought, I find that hers is more direct, more accessible, with a clarity of description and allusion that Heaney just does not show.

:o(

Aveline's Hole

On the first "real" Sunday we have had for a while, with both Moonface and I at home, together with Tommo, we joined the UB-organised trip down Aveline's Hole, a cave in Mendip. It is (so we were told) the largest mesolithic cemetery site in Europe, the burial site of 70 dismembered bodies from 10,000 years ago.



Although we have driven through Burrington Combe en route to walking over the Mendips many times before, and even seen the entry to the cave, we had never stopped to look inside. Now that the cave has been emptied of sediments and detritus by archaeologists, it looks much like any other limestone cave, except for its strong downward slope which is many ways more reminiscent of a mine adit. However, toward to back of the cave where it takes an upward slope again, there is a gated grille. This was installed in 2004, after a small series of prehistoric art was discovered; it was that which we were there to see. To be honest, it didn't look much: just a series of faint hatchings on a smooth rockface at about head height. But it was only the second instance of cave art from that period found in Britain, so it's important. And sadly, the grille was put there to protect the scratches from vandalism.


(It doesn't look much, does it?)

The explanations and information given were wonderful, given by the discoverers of the drawings, and they pitched the tour perfectly but were able to expand and expound upon any questions we were able to throw at them, for as long as we wanted. Thank you, Linda Wilson. To summarise, the cave was the cemetery for a small hunting group of about 25-30 people over a period of around 120 years. At that time, the ice sheets had gone, and the coastline was similar to today's. They blocked the cave after each internment, and then stopped, leaving it blocked until 1795 when it was discovered by some rabbiters.

******************

We also had a short walk high on the hillside above the cave beforehand, making the most of a spell without rain. We ate sandwiches on a dry lime outcrop, with views across the Severn to Wales.


:O)

Towards the End

One of our cats look as if she is slowly dying, as she is hardly eating, is wasting away and spends time on a seat in the garden, doing nothing, not moving to protect herself from the drizzle, not watching the pigeons when they land upon the lawn in front of her. She is skinny and scabby, and looks twice her age.



Kate Clanchy (in her Slattern volume) says it best:

Towards the End.

A wrecked street-cat got up
and shadowed us, came home
and sat an hour on your lap
in the laundry cupboard.

You counted the lice
that massed on her shoulders,
dispassionate, calm
as a man from the census.

We made her live for a while,
had her sprayed and injected,
swaddled her stiff in a towel
as a mummy;

forced milky drugs
through her shut wax mouth.
You stroked her vellum throat
with one finger, put her shaking

and small in my arms as a bird.
She pushed out a paw
as if promising something.
We smiled when she purred.

And woke in the night
to modest hoarse snorings,
fine scratchings in corners,
her peppery smell; to an itch

on our hands that matched,
palm to palm, that reddened
and spread, opened, bled.
Ringworm, they said. Then worse,

quickly worse; a shriek like brakes
skidding, wet sick on the carpet,
queer lucid red, one bony worm
that uncoiled to a comma.

You shrugged when I screamed,
cleared it bent-shouldered,
laid her flat on the floor
as a joke-cat, steam-rollered,

but her breath kept coming,
kept lifting her skin worn loose
as a dust-rag. She was light,
she was just greasy bones in a bag.

I called to her, called baby, love,
reached for your hand. She made
a rusty choking sound, squeezed out
a last tiny shit like a stone, then

you turned away I think,
I know I cried.
There was not enough between us
to keep a cat alive.

And, prompted by an unpleasant email exchange with Kaa last week, this also reminds me of my visit to Nancy a a year ago, of some kittens which she insisted upon rescuing from a canal bank where they had been dumped to fend for themselves. Her goodness and emotion contrasted with my older, more cynical attitude of wanting to leave them. Who was right? I don't know what happened in the end, but two of the three were quickly farmed out to friends, and the other shat in the living room. My disapproval, no doubt, contributed to our subsequent spat and split.



Coincidentally, the kittens were all black, triple bad luck, and found close to a hamlet called Les Moses.

:-]

Exmoor Explorer

I've cycled for years, since I was eleven or so, but because I'm short with shorter legs, I've never been a cycling god and have never entered any sporting event or race since I left school.

Until now.

A friend persuaded me to enter the Exmoor Explorer "endurance event", so I did; Moonface and I spent three nights down on Exmoor camping in dubious weather and having a great time with a load of people whom we had never met before.

The main event of the weekend was a long cycle across Exmoor in miserable muddy conditions, trying to keep our timing right and our bikes in acceptable fettle. And I managed it! In spite of all my postings bemoaning my general lack of speed and fitness, it appears that I'm actually better and stronger than I gave myself credit for.........I took much less time for the short route than many others, and I noticed that my bike was old and crap in comparison with most of the others on the course. (Much like my body, I suppose) In fact, I only saw three bikes older than my own, out of five hundred on the event.

But I got around, I enjoyed myself tremendously, and I had even spent the previous afternoon on the extra long loop that the experts rode around to justify their time.


(Here's Simon on Saturday afternoon when the weather was good, on our over-ambitious warm-up loop)


Hey, it was great!

:O)

Thorn

Since I was about sixteen, when I had my first five-speed bicycle, I've wanted a racing-style bike with bar-end mounted gear levers. They always seemed to me to be the height of cool, with regards to push-bikes. And now, many years later, I've got one. It's a Thorn Club Tour in racing green, suitable for long distance rides and likely to last many years, I hope.


I bought it second-hand as I'm a cheapskate, but it took me safely to Trowbridge and back a couple of times, and around town with ease. Its only drawback is that as it's a tourer rather than a cross or racing bike, it's got a long wheelbase which is just too long to fit it the lobby where Moonface and I usually leave our bikes.

I've had my first mechanical with it already, though.
Cycling off to the Lake last night, I heard an almighty "ping" and my rear brakes started binding and rubbing the wheel immediately. A spoke had gone, and the wheel immediately went badly out of true. I'll have to get it sorted out professionally.

:o)